


The Other Graham

by Bomblastic



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Original Character-centric, Resident Evil 4, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-13 04:24:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13562754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bomblastic/pseuds/Bomblastic
Summary: What if, instead of Ashley being kidnapped by Los Illuminados, it was a young adult male named Clayton?Follows RE4 storyline with character replacement. Work in progress. May add more tags later as story progresses.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I must hate myself because even though I've got three works in progress besides this one I'm starting ANOTHER story. I'll continue this if it gets positive feedback (or no feedback at all), so please let me know what you think.  
> That being said, please enjoy.

The Other Graham

Prologue

            I roll my eyes, groan, and roll my head to look out the window at the passing scenery as I talk to the person on the phone.

            “Okay, but dad, is this REALLY necessary?” I say with no small amount of annoyance.

            “Yes Clay, it’s necessary. It falls on the first of next month, four days from now, and it’s very important to me that you be there. And I want you to be on your best behavior too, understand?” He replies.

            I’m silent for a moment as I ponder his words. The first of next month? That’s only a day after…

            Wait a minute…

            “Dad, is this a surprise party for my birthday or something?”

            He doesn’t need to say anything; his long silence confirms it for me. I wait for him to talk anyways, curious what his response will be.

            He lets out a playful groan. “Damn you and your quick wit, Clay.”

            I laugh. Hard. He laughs too. This goes on for a moment before we gather our wits.

            “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice? It’s only a day after my birthday!” I say with a huge grin.

            “Well I guess I thought that if I acted the part of a stern father with an agenda then it would distract you from the date. Guess I was wrong, huh?” He asks.

            I laugh again. “Trust me dad, if not now I would have figured it out eventually. Well before the due date, at any rate.” I reply.

            He sighs wistfully on the other end of the phone. “Yeah, I suppose so. I guess I’m just used to when you were still just a little kid and I could fool you with that kind of stuff, you know?”

            I snort. “Oh shit, he’s reminiscing. Someone get the tissues.” I joke.

            He playfully scoffs. “Oh ha ha, Clay.” He says dryly. I laugh in response.

            He clears his throat. I can almost see him straightening in his chair like he always does when he’s about to change the subject.

            “So what are you doing?”

            I take a second to gather my thoughts before replying, “Just coming back from my last class, heading home. Y’know, the same thing I’m always doin’ on a Thursday evening.”

            I shit you not, I hear him rolling his eyes somehow.

            “Very funny. Who’s driving you?” He asks.

            I put the phone on speaker and hold it up so that Marco, my driver, can answer. Marco, well used to my shenanigans by now, answers in his usual soft spoken tone.

            “It’s Marco, Mr. President.”

            Yeah by the way my dad’s the newly elected President of the United States, and I’m his son, Clayton Graham.

            No big deal or anything.

            “Ah, hi Marco! Make sure you get my son home safely, or it’ll be curtains for you, you hear?” My dad says in a mock stern voice. Marco and I can’t quite contain our shared snorts of laughter.

            Marco replies “You have my word, Mr. President. I swear on my honor.” He broke out his infamous silly voice and everything. The next few minutes in the limousine are taken up by three sets of loud laughter, one of which coming from my phone, which I set on the middle seat to my left.

            When the laughter finally dies down and Marco once again focuses solely on driving my dad re-initiates the conversation.

            Or at least tries to before he gets cut off halfway through his first word by someone on his end. I hear muted talking on the other end before dad finally comes back.

            “I’m sorry Clay, but I’ve gotta go. I’ll call you tomorrow and we’ll talk more about your party then, alright?”

            I grin. “Yeah, sure da-“

            I’m cut off as suddenly the limousine, which was previously going 45 miles an hour down the highway, starts screeching to a painful halt. I’m thrown forward in my seat, the seatbelt likely saving me from serious injury or worse. Even then I likely have whiplash now.

            I snap myself out of my likely adrenaline-induced state of hyper analysis and bring my eyes forward to ask Marco what the hell happened, only to see a man standing in the middle of the road directly in front of us.

            He’s got muscles for days, is wearing a red beret, has multiple nasty looking scars on his face, and most importantly is visibly armed to the teeth with several fragmentation grenades on his belt, a bandolier of ammunition over each shoulder, and what I recognize as a modified Steyr TMP being held at his waist, laser sight pointing directly at Marco’s forehead through the glass.

            I start to register that our lives are in mortal danger just as my sense of sound comes fully back to me and I hear my dad shouting over the phone, which is now somewhere at my feet. Must have fallen down there in the ruckus.

            I don’t have time for anymore thoughts before an almost deafening crack splits the air, snapping me out of my stunned daze. I bring my attention forward in time to see Marco slump forward onto the steering wheel, thumping his head down onto it much more roughly than any person in their right mind would, causing the horn to continuously sound. His slumped, careless posture speaks volumes to me as to what just happened to him.

            I empty the contents of my stomach out onto the seat to my left.

            “CLAYTON WHAT’S HAPPENING?!” My dad’s absolutely frantic screeching finally pierces its way into my brain.

            “Dad, send help! There’s a man attacking us, he killed Marco!” I shout back to him, the horn doing a nice job in covering up our yelling.

            “Don’t panic, Clay! Remember the contingency!”

            Ah yes, the contingency. I look up at the folds in the leather upholstery above me.

            “Alright, dad, I’ll do my best! And listen, just in case I don’t make it out of this alive, I want you to know that you’re the best-“

            Once again I’m cut off as the door to my right is suddenly and violently ripped _off its hinges_ , and thrown off to the side like a broken toy. I’m suddenly staring right down the barrel of the very same gun that only moments ago killed one of my closest friends, the laser sight resting right in between my eyes, not that I could see it.

            “Alright, hands up, kiddo.” The rather intimidating man practically growled at me, making an “up” motion with his TMP, which he held at his hips.

            He’s less than a foot away from me. I could literally reach out and touch him. I’m going to have to be quick if I want to pull this off.

            I slowly reach my hands up above my head. Higher, higher yet higher…

            I silently reach into the fold in the leather upholstery above my head, pulling out my Beretta M9. In a flash I bring my hand with the gun down into view, point it right at the man’s head, and pull the trigger. All in less than a quarter of a second.

            The man’s head jerks back and he lets out a shout of surprise mixed with pain as he squeezes the trigger, a slew of bullets flying right past my head and shattering the window on my left.

            I don’t bother watching him fall to the ground in death, partly because I don’t want to waste any time as he could have brought backup, but mainly because I don’t quite want to face the ramifications of what I just did quite yet.

            I look back forward and quickly open the dividing window all the way, beginning to climb through so I can start the car and drive to safety.

            At least that’s the plan until I’m about halfway through the window and feel an iron grip clasp around my ankle.

            I’m practically swung out of the vehicle by my ankle, hitting the ground about five feet away from the road, in the grass. The wind is knocked WAY out of me by the impact, and I roll over onto my back so I can see my new attacker.

            Except it’s not a new attacker. My eyes widen and my jaw drops to the ground as I see the exact same buff mother fucker who shot Marco standing there at the door to the car he just forcefully removed me from.

            I flex my right hand. My gun’s missing, not very surprising considering I was just thrown like a fucking boomerang. I try to sit up, but am almost immediately pinned to the ground by my throat, which is weird considering this apparently bulletproof man was five feet away just a moment ago.

            Great, bulletproof and can move faster than I can blink. Just my luck.

            I gasp for air that isn’t coming while trying to pry the man’s hand off my throat with both arms. It felt like I was trying to lift a stop sign out of solid asphalt; AKA impossible. I froze in fear as I felt that damned TMP rest against my left temple. He lifts his grip on my neck enough so I can breathe, but I still have absolutely no chance of breaking free.

            “You’re lucky I have orders to bring you in alive, you little shit.” He growls down at me. I lock eyes with him and immediately look away, feeling like I want to pee my pants in fear.

            I’ve never seen eyes like his, but a primal part of me immediately realizes that this man has the eyes of a cold-blooded killer. And for some reason I’ve been added to his list of priorities.

            He gives out an amused huff. “Then again, maybe you’re not so lucky after all.” He intones.

            The intense stress of the situation finally gets to me, causing my eyes to roll up into the back of my head as I faint from sheer panic.

* * *

 

            The mercenary, seeing that his target has fainted, gives an amused “hmph” as he rises to his feet. As he rises to full height he hears a familiar voice from inside the car.

            “Clayton, are you alright? Did it work?!” The voice of the President shouts, coming from just inside the back seat.

            The mercenary smirks and walks over to the car, picking up the phone from the floor of the car and holding it up to his face.

            “Mr. President, I take it?” He asks, his gravelly voice undoubtedly sending off warning bells for the president.

            There’s silence on the other end, so he continues, “Sorry to say, but your son’s coming with me.”

            Another moment of silence before Mr. Graham’s voice finally comes through, sounding significantly weaker than a moment ago, “Look, if it’s money you want you’ll get it, alright? Just, please… Don’t hurt my son.”

            “You’ll be hearing from us again soon, I imagine, Mr. President. And don’t worry, we’ll take good care of your precious little boy in the mean time.”

            The President suddenly becomes enraged, “You son of a bitch, if you harm my son I swear to god I’ll-“

            The mercenary wasn’t interested in hearing what he had to say, thus he elected to throw the phone up in the air, unsheathe his knife, and slice the phone neatly in half all in one smooth movement.

            He sheathes his knife and walks back over to the unconscious form of his target, picking him up under the waist and slinging him over his right shoulder with one hand. He reaches up and presses the earpiece in his right ear.

            “Command, the target’s secure, making my way to the extraction zone now.” He reports as he casually takes a red grenade off his belt, pulls the pin and throws it over his shoulder, the sudden roaring flames quickly spreading over the limousine, slowly burning it to a crisp.

            “Understood, the evac chopper will meet you there, ETA five minutes.”

            The man nods to himself and continues walking, not even flinching as the flames spread to the gas tank of the limo, causing the entire car to erupt in a fiery explosion, steadily blazing away in the middle of the highway.

            15 minutes later, when the DSO got there, all that was left was a burnt out husk of a limousine with a charred corpse in the driver’s seat.


	2. Kidnapped

 

            Voices…

            I can faintly hear voices. I’m pretty out of it right now, hell I’m surprised I’m capable of coherent thought. Though I feel like I’m about to pass out again at any moment, so I’d better get as much information as I can.

            I try to open my eyes without success. These bastards must have drugged me with something. As I sit there, trying to get my extremities to work, I suddenly feel the familiar pinch of a needle penetrating the flesh of my neck, causing me to give a slight wince in pain. It’s probably anesthetic; they must not be ready for me to wake up yet.

            Sure enough, I can feel myself fading away once again. Just before I pass out again I hear the voices again. I recognize the words this time.

            Spanish.

            Where the hell have I been taken?

            That’s my last coherent thought before I pass out once more.

            I don’t realize I’m waking up until I feel my head throb with a dull headache. I groan in pain and shift a little, bringing my hand up to my head to rub the pain away.

            At least I try to, before realizing that my hands are tied behind my back.

            “Ah, good. You are awake.”

            I can tell straight away from this guy’s voice that he’s the reason I’ve been brought here; he’s the head honcho of this whole kidnapping thing.

            I open my eyes. I’m staring down into my lap, leaning up against a wall with my legs outstretched before me. I slowly raise my head up, groaning in pain as it exacerbates my headache.

            I’m in a small room, littered with old, dusty furniture and chairs, including a large cabinet that I just so happen to be leaning against. Straight across from me are four men.

            Two of them are rather normal looking, aside from the makeshift weapons they’re wielding, including a scythe and a hatchet. Both are glaring at me with piercing _glowing_ red eyes, as if daring me to try something.

            The two men in the middle are each equally impressive levels of _what the fuck_.

            The man slightly behind the other is, to be blunt, built like a brick shithouse. He’s at least 8 feet tall! He’s also wearing a dark gray trench coat, is bald with a rather messy beard, and has heterochromia, one eye being blue and the other being blood red. At a glance I can tell he’s definitely not on my side, though I don’t think he’s the head of this operation.

            I’m pretty sure that title goes to the weird dude standing closer to me than all the others. He’s wearing a very ornate purple robe, covered in all sorts of flowing intricacies and an apparent insignia on the chest. He’s wielding some kind of…staff…in his right hand. I hesitate on that word because it’s got _eyes_ and _tentacles_ coming out of it. Ick.

            The man appears to be in his late 50s, with soulless grey eyes, and a rather smug grin on his face as he patiently waits for me to finish my inspection and say something.

            I decide the best thing would be to oblige him.

            “Umm… Hi, I guess.” I say hesitantly. “I’d introduce myself, but I imagine you already know my name, considering you’re the one who had me kidnapped in the first place.” A subtle dig for information disguised as perception.

            His smirk widens and he gives a rather sinister laugh in response. I draw my legs up underneath me and stand up, careful not to fall over without my arms to help balance me.

            “My my, so perceptive,”

Bingo.

”and polite as well! That kind of good behavior will save you a lot of trouble during your stay here. That I can guarantee you, my child.”

I’m getting _major_ horror movie villain vibes from this guy.

Or maybe a horror game of some sort?

Eh, whatever.

I gather my wits and decide to try the obvious diplomatic route. I honestly don’t expect it to work, but I might as well try, right?

I clear my throat before starting, “Look, umm…” I give him a pointed look, hoping to get him to divulge his name.

He gives me a knowing smirk. I have a feeling he’s on to my tricks.

“I am Lord Osmund Saddler, leader of Los Illuminados, and you? You are my prisoner.” He gives a rather menacing toothy smile as he finishes, sending a strange shiver down my spine.

Something primal in me tells me that this guy is not one to be underestimated, nor idly trifled with. I’ll have to be extra cautious.

“Right, Saddler.” I continue, “Look, I don’t know what it is you’ve brought me here for, though I have some suspicions, ransom being the most prevalent one. If that’s the case, then maybe you and I could come to some sort of deal, right here right now? I can get you a very large-“

He cuts me off with a highly amused, smug laugh.

“While you are partially correct, that is not even close to being the main reason I had you brought here, Clayton.” Oh my god, I never want to hear this man say my name again. Something about it just makes my skin crawl. “Rest assured that I have plans for you and you will not be leaving until they are fulfilled, American.”

I can hear the contempt in his voice when he says American.

“So until then, you might as well get comfortable. After all, you’re going to be here for a while.”

He turns around and begins walking away, the large man beginning to follow in his wake, until Saddler comes up short and turns back to me once more,

“And one more thing, there are many members in this wonderful religious group of mine, and they’re spread all across this village we’ve brought you to. If you try to escape, they will not hesitate to bring you back here. And I promise you, they will make you regret your attempt.”

And with a final parting villain’s laugh he walked down the hallway to the left, the huge guy following closely behind. The two Spaniard looking guys stayed behind, obviously acting as guards.

I lean back against the wall and hang my head in despair. What are these guys planning with me? Well, whatever it is it obviously involves the presidency and the USA as a whole, therefore it can’t be good. Some kind of terrorist act, perhaps?

Oh god, I hope dad isn’t too worried. I know for a fact that Ashley will be worried sick, bless her heart.

Fuck, I hope I’ll get to see them again…

            A tear runs down my face.

I look out the window above my two guards only to start as I realize it’s the dead of night right now. How long have I been out?

I carefully reach my bound hands around to my right pocket and withdraw the digital pocket watch from it, tediously bringing it forward until I can bend my neck enough to look down at it.

10:55 PM October 29th, 2004

Well shit. It’s already been a day since I was kidnapped. Since…

Marco…

Since Marco was killed by that mercenary.

Dear god, why him? He didn’t deserve this; he was just in the wrong place in the wrong time! It’s not fair! Why did that man have to kill him?! He could have just knocked him out or something!

Tears are running down my face now, but I honestly couldn’t care less. I’m coming to terms with the fact that this situation is very real and very dangerous. So dangerous, in fact, that it’s already taken one of my childhood friends away from me. Sure he was an adult and I was a kid, but Marco’s been in my life for so long! He was a good man with a wife and kids, and now they’re never going to see him again!

All because of Saddler and this game he’s playing, with me as his pawn no less!

I realize now that the diplomatic approach isn’t going to work with these guys. They’re not going to be happy until a lot of people are either miserable or dead, and my dad won’t allow that to happen.

I won’t allow that to happen.

Though unfortunately, I can’t do very much to help at the moment. I’m a little tied up at the moment.

Ugh.

Seriously though, if I tried to make a difference in Saddler’s plans by myself I wouldn’t get very far. I don’t have the skills, nor the opportunity to be able to make a break for it while avoiding capture or worse.

Like it or not, Saddler’s got me covered. I’m stuck.

On the bright side though, my dad will inevitably send someone to rescue me, whether that be a large force of soldiers, or maybe a single man to infiltrate and get me out without causing a ruckus? They’d have to be extremely skilled to stand a chance against these guys, maybe someone from the Division of Security Operations? I heard they were adding someone new to the team soon, hopefully they don’t send him.

Poor bastard wouldn’t stand a chance, being wet around the ears and all.

I start awake and realize that at some point during my ponderings I’d apparently leaned against the wall and fallen back asleep. Haven’t I gotten enough sleep in the last 24 hours? I guess not.

I realize there’s someone in front of me. Must be what woke me up. I open my eyes to once again gaze at my lap, though I see a familiar pair of boots in my peripherals.

I bring my head up to look at my visitor. Oh, it’s the big fucking guy that was lingering behind Saddler before. I wonder what this guy’s importance is.

Saddler’s right hand man, maybe?

My analysis is cut short as the man, without a word, reaches down with a single massive hand and picks me up around the middle, slinging me over his right shoulder. I grunt in surprise and a little shock at the impressive feat of strength; after all, I weigh over 200 pounds.

“Yo, wait, where are you taking me?” I plead with him. He gives no indication that he even heard me as he walks out of the room with me, the two guards following him out.

I can only gaze behind us as he walks with me over his shoulder. I notice the two guards following diligently behind us are the same guards from before I fell asleep.

We get outside, and I notice it’s now daytime, late morning.

Wow, those guys stared at me in the exact same position all night? They must be extremely devoted to their cause.

I look back at my guards. They’re ordinary Spaniards, though I can’t help but notice something.

Their eyes aren’t glowing red anymore. They’re blue and brown now.

Hmm…There’s clearly some bit of information I’m missing here, but what?

Eh, whatever. No sense worrying about it if I don’t have all the information I need.

I take in my surroundings. There are many rundown buildings in our vicinity, and we’re surrounded by a sprawling forest.

Great, nothing like getting kidnapped by creepy middle-of-nowhere villagers.

We walk for a while before coming upon a farm. There are more villagers here, doing everyday chores like filling troughs, feeding the hens, basic farm stuff. They all unanimously turn and stare at me as we pass by.

Well that’s creepy.

One weird thing I can’t help but notice on our way through is that there are several bright blue medallions hanging from various spots around this area.

What’s the point of those?

Anyways, we exit the farm through a far gate and find ourselves in what is clearly the heart of the village. There are about five large houses in this communal area, all of which are well kept, as opposed to the run down houses I’ve been seeing.

Once again, all the villagers (there’s a lot here) unanimously stop what they’re doing and stare directly at me as we pass by and head down another path.

Okay, there’s something weird going on with these people.

The path we take is surrounded on both sides by tall trees. It goes on for quite a while until we suddenly find ourselves entering a churchyard speckled with ornate tombstones.

Fantastic, a graveyard. Great place to be in a horror movie.

There are much less villagers here, only about three. One in the shack to our right, one mingling around the gravestones, and one near the church entrance in the distance. We close the gap quickly, coming up to the church’s entrance. The big guy reaches down and inserts a round insignia into the slot on the front of the door, causing the lock to make a conspicuous clicking sound from inside the door.

What the fuck kind of a weird ass lock is that?

            We open the door and step inside.

            I can’t see much, being stuck looking backwards and all. The dude carrying me makes a left and walks along the wall. I finally get a good look at the room around us.

            It’s very ornate, with a rather ominous looking altar set in the middle of the room beyond all the pews, and that same conspicuous insignia I’ve been seeing everywhere.

            The symbol of Los Illuminados, perhaps?

            I’m suddenly planted back on my feet. The act is so sudden I almost fall backwards, but manage to save myself the embarrassment.

            The man turns me around to face a ladder set into the wall in front of me. My binds are suddenly cut, finally relieving me from the pain of keeping my arms behind my back for so long.

            “Climb.”

            This is the first time I’ve heard the big fucker talk. I’m momentarily stunned. A moment too long, it seems, as I suddenly receive a shove to my back. One that practically catapults me forward, causing me to bang my forehead against one of the rungs on the ladder. I give an involuntary shout of pain.

            Did I mention the ladder’s made of steel? Because damn my head hurts right now.

“Climb!”

The man shouts it this time. I waste no time in scurrying up the ladder, my self-preservation instincts kicking in.

            Maybe now that I’m away from my captors, even if it is just for a moment, maybe I can make my move? There’s gotta be a window or something somewhere up here…

            I take a step away from the ladder, looking for a way out. I turn back towards the ladder just in time to see an impossible feat.

            The big guy literally jumped all the way from the ground floor to the top of the ladder in one massive vertical leap right before my eyes.

            My eyes bulged and my mouth dropped open in shock. How?! That isn’t humanly possible!

My shock cost me my brief window of opportunity as the guy once again picked me up and slung me over his shoulder, keeping a firmer grip on my midsection now that my hands were no longer bound.

We only walked about five more huge strides before coming across a metal door. The man opened it and, without further ceremony, threw me inside.

I landed flat on my back, thankfully not banging my already sore head on the cement, though it did knock the wind out of me.

I heard the metal door slam closed once more, followed by an ominous locking sound.

Welp, looks like this is where I’m being held for now.

I finally manage to catch my breath as I arduously sit up, looking around my new prison.

It’s clearly meant to be a storage room, with some lumber and a few tools scattered about.

Well that was pretty stupid of them to put me in a room with potential weapons.

Then again, with people like the big guy on their side, maybe they don’t need to worry about me getting my hands on some makeshift weapons.

Either way, It’ll make me feel better knowing I’m armed, so after catching my breath I walk over to the shelf and browse the items at my disposal.

Let’s see…a scythe, a ball ping hammer, a nail hammer, a basic mallet, a crowbar, a-

Wait, what?

Sure enough, there’s a basic goose neck red crowbar sitting on the very right of the shelf, the curved end sticking over the edge. I pick it up. The paint’s a little worn away, but it seems sturdy enough for now.

I give it a few experimental swings, then go over some of my old training katas with it. Feels nice, though I bang my shin with it at one point.

Ouch.

That done, I look around the room again and notice a couple of oddly conspicuous wooden barrels in the corners of the room. They look really out of place, and fragile as hell. Shrugging my shoulders, I give one a good practice swing with my newfound bludgeoning tool, only to almost fall forward as it practically crumbles under the might of my admittedly lackluster swing.

Laying on the ground is four small gold pieces.

            What in the actual fuck?

            I lean down and pick them up, giving them a closer look. I recognize the currency.

            Pesetas.

            Holy shit, I’m in THAT part of Spain?!

            Holy fuck knuckles, it might be a minute before someone comes for me.

            Either way I figure these might come in handy, thus decide to take them, stuffing them into my back pocket.

            Why these guys are hiding money in barrels like this, I have no idea, though I’m not complaining. Might as well get whatever might be left.

            There are three other barrels in the room. I break them all, the first one not having anything in it, the second having more Pesetas in it, and the last having…

            Shotgun shells?

            Yeah, sure enough the last one has a box of Heavyfield Saboted 12-Gauge Shotgun Shells! I open it up, counting up 10 shells in total.

            What the fuck is this shit?

            Why would these people put me in the same room they keep their shells in?

            I’m so fucking confused.

            Then again, these are kind of useless without a gun to fire them out of, so I guess they figured it didn’t matter.

            However, if I get out of here and manage to get my hands on some kind of 12-gauge, they’re gonna be sorry.

            Once I collect all the loot I take a minute to gather my thoughts, wondering if there’s some sort of oversight that would allow me to escape.

            I look up at the window above me, which is unfortunately barred.

            I walk over to the door and try to open it, but sure enough it’s firmly locked.

            Damn, no dice.

            Guess there’s nothing to do but wait, now.

            Maybe I could practice my fighting a little more? I am a little rusty.

            With that, I drop back into my stance and dedicate myself to wasting the time away with practicing my katas.

            With a crowbar.

            Man, what a weird day this is.

            It’s only been about an hour since I started, but I already feel back up to full speed. I think I could take on an average male human now, though I should probably steer clear from Saddler and the big dude for now.

            Something tells me that confronting either of those two would be a big mistake on my part.

            My practice is violently interrupted by a sudden, horrific pain shooting down my spine. I give out an involuntary cry of both shock and pain, my crowbar falling out of my limp hand in my sudden pain-induced fugue.

            I groan in agony, falling to my knees. It feels like something’s shifting around in my back, fucking with my spine! Why is this happening? What’s happening to me?!

            The pain rapidly becomes far too much to bear, causing me to black out.

            The sun has long since set by the time I wake up. I’m laying flat on my back, arms and legs outstretched. The horrific ache from before is gone now, though something doesn’t feel quite right. I can’t explain it, it’s almost like I’m not completely here?

            As I sit up I begin to feel something crawling down my left arm. I jerk my head towards it, worried some bug is on me.

            There’s a red cord travelling up my arm, under my skin. Like a blood vein.

            What the fuck?!

            I begin hyperventilating, trying and failing to stop its progression down my arm, to no avail.

            As I claw at my left arm with my right I begin to feel the same sensation, but on my right arm. Sure enough, there’s a similar branch of veiny cords creeping down my right arm, like a parasite taking over my extremities. Like clockwork, the sensation creeps down my left leg. Then my right. Then I feel it crawling up my neck. I feel the cords shifting near my throat.

            Just as I feel this…Thing that’s infested me finish its trek to my brain…

            I scream like a dying man.

            I jolt awake, shooting up from my face-down position and sitting up.

            I’m breathing rapidly, undoubtedly a side effect from the intense dream I’d just had. What the hell was that about, anyway? What was that thing that took over my body like that?

            Is there some deeper meaning to it, or is it just my stressed out mind giving me nightmares?

            Mind still reeling, I look up at the window. It’s now evening, and cloudy as hell. Wonderful.

            My musings are interrupted by strange sounding footsteps from outside my door. It takes me a moment to realize why they sound weird.

            High heels?

            Who the hell would be wearing high heels around these parts?

            The realization causes me to jolt completely upright, all traces of sleep completely gone.

            They’re not from around here, which means they must be here to rescue me!

I rush to the door and bang on it, shouting through the metal, “Hey! Hey, I’m in here! Please, get me out!”

            The footsteps stop at my voice. I wait for a moment, then hear them start up again, growing louder and louder until they stop right outside my door.

            “Clayton Graham, I presume?” The voice that comes through the door is most certainly feminine. Whoever this is, she’s got the voice of a woman with a lot to hide.

            “Yes, it’s me! Did my dad send you?”

            The mysterious woman gives a small laugh and replies “Afraid not, kid. I’m here for…other reasons.”

            My stomach drops, the hope that had been welling up in my chest since I first heard the footsteps beginning to wane. “Well, if you’re not here for me, can you let me out anyways? I have no idea what these people are going to do to me!”

            A moment of silence, and then, “Sorry sweetie, but if I did that I’m pretty sure I’d be out of a job.” She’s still got her smug “woman on top of everything” voice, so her “comforting” words ring rather hollow.

            So, she’s with them. Swell.

            With this revelation the last of my waning hope fell out of me completely. I backed away from the door, not bothering to reply to her as I slump against the wall and slide down it to rest my head in my knees.

            I don’t hear another word out of her as she walks away. I don’t care; she can rot for all I care!

            I think I’ve completely given in to despair at this point. I feel my eyes welling up as I make some unfortunate revelations.

            No one’s coming for me. I’m alone, and I’m probably going to die here.

            A single tear falls. My face hardens in determination.

            No. If I’m going down, then I sure as hell ain’t going down without a struggle.

            I quickly devise a plan. The next time someone comes for me, I’ll hide behind the door, then give them a wallop with my crowbar when they come in to investigate. Assuming their reflexes aren’t too good, they’ll be down for the count, and hopefully I’ll be able to make a break for it.

            Assuming Saddler or the big dude don’t decide to come for me personally, this should go off without a hitch. Until then, I suppose I should do something productive with my time.

            Though before I can get anything done I suddenly hear the _very_ loud church bell tolling from the tower. I immediately cover my ears. Who the hell is ringing the bell? Was it the woman from before? Why the hell would she do that?!

            The bell tolls about 13 or 14 times before finally falling silent.  When it does, I realize the footsteps have gone away. The woman left.

            Good riddance.

            I look around, spying a large slab of wooden planks nailed together, as if to form one side of a rectangular wooden box. I pick it up, testing its weight.

            Yeah, this’ll work.

            I bring it over to the work bench in the corner, getting out the nail hammer, a box of 3’ nails, a very sharp skinning knife, and a wood saw. I snag some horse tack from one of the racks, a spare 2x4, and get to work.

            I’ve never done anything like this before, but I like to think I’m doing pretty well. I cut some strips of leather from the tack and nailed them to one end of the wooden slab in a loop form, with enough slack to comfortably fit my forearm.

            I’m in the middle of reinforcing them when I hear the front door of the church open once again, this time many pairs of shoes walking inside.

            Looks like the villagers have finally responded to the bell. I’d better keep it down, don’t want to give them a reason to come up here.

            It doesn’t take the steps long to die out, being replaced by dead silence. I imagine they’ve sat down in the pews and are waiting patiently.

            15 minutes crawl by. What’s happening? Is someone going to speak? Do a speech? Question why they’re there? Anything other than _dead silence_?

            The silence reaches the 20 minute mark before something finally happens. I hear the front door abruptly open. There’s a second or two more of silence, before I hear the people stand up all at once and start for the door. It takes only about a half a minute for them to sidle out, all without a single word.

            What the fuck is up with these people?

            I listen for another 5 minutes, just in case someone stayed behind. I don’t hear anything, so I figure everyone left, and get back to work. I’m almost done, anyway.

            I saw the appropriate pieces of wood from the scavenged 2x4 and nail them into the wood on the opposite end from the leather strips.

            My work being done, I pick up my creation with my right hand, slide my left hand through the leather loops, and grab onto the wooden handle all in one motion.

            Awesome, I made a makeshift wooden shield!

            I’m not sure how well it will work, or how many hits it will be able to take (if any at all) before falling apart, but hopefully it’ll increase my odds of getting out of here when I finally make my move.

            Plus my figurative boredom meter has gone down by 15 points. Cool. 

            My newly equipped shield in tow, I grab my crowbar off the rack and walk over to the door, sitting against the wall next to the door’s hinges.

            Now that there’s nothing left to do but wait, I guess I should get some shut eye. I get into as comfortable of a position as I can get next to the door and lay there for about 15 minutes before falling asleep.

            I’m woken up what feels like a few hours later by the sound of the front door opening. I look to the window and sure enough, it looks like it’s about midnight. It’s also heavily raining.

            Well shit, even if I do make a break for it I’ll probably freeze to death before I manage to make it to safety! If I can even make it that far before someone catches me, that is.

            I look around the storage room, spotting a rather thick dark blue poncho, probably made of wool. That’ll work nicely. I walk over and grab it, trying it on. It’s kind of musty and about a size too large, but it’ll keep the rain off of me, and that’s what matters.

            I’m forced to remember my imminent visitor by the sound of someone climbing the ladder outside. I return to my position behind the door, my crowbar and shield primed and ready to go at a moment’s notice. Now to wait until they come in.

            I hear them walking around outside for a moment. No high heels this time, thank god. They footsteps stop for a moment before a rush of air and the sound of chains loudly rattling catches my attention. I hear a male grunt before the impact of someone landing on stone after a large jump.

            The fuck? Why’d they swing over the chandelier?

            Is their path blocked by something?

            The next five minutes pass by in virtual silence, pierced by the occasional footstep, and twice by the loud sounds of splintering wood.

            What the fuck is he doing?

            I snap out of my confused state and ready myself once again, reminding myself that this guy’s not here to do anything nice, and that he could come into this room at any moment. I’ve got to surprise the shit out of him for this to have any chance of working.

            A moment later I hear the sound of some complex machinery coming together, followed shortly by the sound of metal grinding on stone, before all goes quiet. What just happened?

            The footsteps continue, though they rapidly grow louder before suddenly stopping outside my door. This is it, it’s now or never!

            The lock disengages, and the door slowly swings open, the barrel of a Silver Ghost handgun sweeping the room, followed by a man. He hasn’t noticed me, now’s my chance!

I swing the crowbar down as hard as I can!

 The man does an impressive dodge flip away to the other side of the room before aiming his pistol at me. I hide as much of my torso and head behind my shield as I can, ready to bolt at the earliest opportunity.

He certainly doesn’t look like he belongs anywhere near here. He’s got sandy blonde hair in a sort of bowl cut and blue eyes, firmly trained on me. His eyes are those of a man who’s seen some shit and came out stronger because of it. He’s wearing a black t-shirt with some kind of tactical rigging over it, complete with shoulder flashlight. He’s wearing blue jeans, which is something I can respect. He’s also armed to the teeth, with a Silver Ghost handgun in a holster, a bolt-action .223 rifle slung over his left shoulder, a civilian 12-gauge pump-action shotgun slung over his right, and several different grenades strapped to his waist.

The man’s eyes light up in recognition a moment later. “Clayton!” He says in relief before lowering his handgun and holstering it, cautiously advancing towards me.

The realization hits me a moment later, almost staggering me with the force.

“Oh my god, you’re here to rescue me, aren’t you?” I say with a huge grin on my face and intense relief in my voice.

He smiles, “That’s right. My name’s Leon Kennedy, DSO agent. Your dad personally sent me to come get you. Are you alright?” He’s within arm’s reach by now. I lower my weapons.

“Yeah, I think so. A little roughed up, but I think that’s to be expected given the circumstances.” I reply. “By the way, I’m sorry for taking a swing at you. I thought you were one of them.”

He gives a soft laugh. “Don’t sweat it. Now come on, let’s get the hell out of here.”

I scoff, “Dude, you don’t have to tell me twice, alright? Let’s fucking go!” I exclaim with a grin.

He laughs and steps towards the middle of the room before pulling out a small handheld communicator. He holds it up to his face, and just as I realize it’s a GRVT Visual Radio Leon starts talking to the person on the other end.

“It’s Leon. I’ve succeeded in extricating my subject.” He says to the person on the other end.

“Good work, Leon. I’ll send a chopper over right away.” An all-business feminine voice comes through.

“Where’s the extraction point?” Leon asks the woman, probably his tactical support for this mission.

“There's another trail that you can take to get out of the village. The chopper will pick you up beyond there.” She answers.

“Got it. I'm on my way.” Leon finalizes before cutting the connection and stowing the radio back on his belt.

“Thank god for that,” I mutter.

Leon laughs and gives a “follow me” sort of jerk of his head and walks to the door, me following diligently behind. He opens the door and steps out. I follow his footsteps, shield and crowbar in hand.

He beelines for the ladder, climbing down it without any hesitation. I go down after him, getting to the bottom to find him waiting for me. He motions towards the doors with his head. I nod with a relieved smile and we rush out into the center aisle, intent on cutting through the middle to get to the doors.

“I’ll take the boy.” A familiar voice drawls out from the direction of the altar.

My heart lurches. Fucking Saddler.

“Who are you?” Leon asks forcefully. I get into a wide stance, ready to fight or flee at the drop of a hat. I notice Leon’s adopted a similar stance. I guess great minds think alike.

“If you must know, my name is Osmund Saddler, the master of this fine…religious community.” Saddler responds.

“What do you want?” Leon demands. There’s no way I could have ever been as ballsy as Leon’s being right now when I first met this guy.

“To demonstrate to the world our astounding power, of course! No longer will the United States think it can police the world forever. So we kidnapped the president’s son-“

I tighten my grip on my weapons as Leon instinctively holds his arm out, as if shielding me from Saddler.

“-in order to give him our power, and then send him back.”

My eyes widen. My mouth drops open.

My mind flashes back to when I was unconscious and I felt that needle prick my neck.

“Oh god…” Slips out of my mouth before my mind catches up with it. Leon turns towards me with a concerned frown. I reach up and feel the right side of my neck, finding a blood clot covering a small needle prick.

“Leon, I remember them injecting me with something while I was out.” I say with a slight tremble, much to my humiliation.

Leon gets a rather incensed look on his face as he turns back to Saddler, much to my surprise. “What did you do to him?” He practically growls. Damn, Leon’s kind of scary.

“We just planted him a little…gift. Oh, there’s going to be one _hell_ of a party when he returns home to his loving father.” He gives VERY villainous laugh. “But before that, I thought I might bargain with the President for some...donations. Believe it or not, it takes quite a lot of money to keep this church up and running.”

 

            Leon steps the fuck up like the man he is, “Faith and money will lead you nowhere, Saddler.” He boldly states.

            Saddler turns his attention to Leon, “Oh, I believe I forgot to tell you that we gave you the same gift.”

            Leon turns his head down in thought, a frown on his face. “While I was unconscious,” he thinks aloud.

            Saddler continues his totally-not-cliché-villain-monologue, “Oh, I truly hope you like our small, but special contributions. When the eggs hatch, you’ll become my puppets. Involuntarily, you’ll do as I say. I’ll have total control over your minds.”

            He gives a sinister smirk, “Don’t you think this is an excellent way to propagate one’s faith?”

            Leon takes a hostile step forward in defiance, “Sounds more like an alien invasion if you ask me!”

            I can’t help but look at him weird. Alien invasion? What?

            Before I can snatch the shotgun off of Leon’s shoulder and blow Saddler’s smug smirk right off his face like I’ve been itching to do this entire conversation, the doors swing open behind us. Leon and I turn to see two hooded cultists enter, wielding dual-action crossbows with flaming arrow tips and aiming them at us. Leon and I turn back to Saddler, whose smug smirk widens at our predicament.

            We look to our right and see a window leading out into the side shed of the church. Leon looks at me. I give him a subtle nod, he nods back. On an unspoken signal we both break out into an all-out sprint to the window, hearing the crossbows release their payloads behind us, the arrows smacking into the wooden pews just behind me as we leap through the window, shattering it from the force and falling to the ground below. Leon did a graceful roll to soften the impact, while I’m embarrassed to say my momentum catapulted me forward and off my feet, causing me to land on my face.

            I groan in pain and push myself to my feet as I hear Leon approach. “Clayton, you okay?” He asks, his voice heavy with concern.

            I ignore his question, opting to fix him with a scared look and ask “Leon, what the fuck are we going to do? Was he telling the truth about putting some bullshit into us that will make us into his own personal flying monkeys?!”

            I don’t realize I’m hyperventilating until Leon takes my shoulders and cuts into my fugue, “Clayton! Breathe, alright? Don’t worry, we got ourselves into this mess, we can get ourselves out of it.” He says reassuringly.

            Thankfully it works, as I feel my breathing slowly go back to normal, my blood no longer rushing through my ears.  I take a deep breath in through my nose and out through my mouth.

            “Yeah…yeah, you’re right. Thanks Leon, and, um…sorry for freaking out.” I apologize somewhat timidly.

            Leon gives me a patient smile. “Hey, don’t worry about it. Now come on, we’ve got to get moving.” He says, gesturing for me to follow him.

            I stop him short, “Wait, Leon…” I hesitate. How in the world can I ask this of him?

            He turns back to me, giving me his full attention. “What is it?” He asks.

            I take another deep breath and decide to just spit it out, “Do you have a spare weapon I could use?”

            He stares at me for a moment before laughing, pointing down at my hands, “I thought you were already armed to the teeth?” He teases, obviously referring to my shoddy excuse for weaponry. My face reddens in embarrassment.

            “It’s all I had to work with, alright? And if it’s all the same to you I’d prefer to have something a little more…substantial, if you take my meaning?” I raise my eyebrows in question.

            He grins at me and reaches behind him into his belt, “As a matter of fact, your dad told me to give this to you. He said the SS found it in the grass about five feet away from the remains of your limousine.”

            He brings his hand back forward and holds out to me…

            My M9!

            “Holy shit, my gun! I can’t believe it!” I say with excitement and happiness as I tuck my crowbar into a loop on my poncho and take my beloved weapon, checking it over for any damages. Luckily it’s exactly the same as when I left it, albeit with a refilled clip.

            “Here, take these too.” Leon hands me a holster which immediately goes on my hip, a couple of spare magazines and a box of 9mm ammo, which I tuck into the oversized pockets on my poncho, which I’m very glad I picked up at this point.

            “You know how to use it, right?” Leon asks me.

            In response I look him straight in the eyes as I pull the slide back to check for a bullet in the chamber, which there is. I then take the safety off, pull the hammer back, and give the gun a couple of graceful spins on its way into my holster.

            He laughs, “Point taken, let’s move.”

            I laugh back, and nod. We notice a few barrels scattered about the shed, which I immediately set to breaking open. Leon does the same, apparently he’s learned this trick by now. I break open two barrels, finding ten more 9mm rounds (into my pocket) and more shotgun shells.

            Oh yeah, that’s right!

            “Hey Leon, I forgot to mention, but here. I found these back in my cell.” I say as I fish out the box of shells I found earlier and hand them to him along with the shells I just found, which is 15 shells in total. Enough to fill an entire box.

            He looks pleasantly surprised, “Oh. Thanks, Clay.” He says, taking the shells and storing them somewhere on his person.

            “Shall we?” I say, motioning to the doors.

            Leon nods, “Yeah, just follow my lead, stay out of my line of fire, and do whatever I tell you without question, got it?”

            I nod, “Yeah, I got it. Let’s go.” I raise my pistol up in a ready position, level with my shoulders. I also brace my shield against my torso, just in case.

            Leon looks forward and unlocks the door, rushing through into the outside graveyard with me right on his heels.


End file.
